


Nature Of Inviting

by b26 (B26)



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Hannibal and Will are a bit slutty, Hannibal is Hannibal, I just really love Will Graham, M/M, Okay a lot slutty, One Shot, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sexy Times, but we love them, will is a cutie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-03
Updated: 2014-04-03
Packaged: 2018-01-18 00:41:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1408624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/B26/pseuds/b26
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A smutty one shot. Hannibal and Will meet at a party. I adore the way Hannibal sees into killers’ minds and their thoughts become his. This is written from the POV of how Will sees Hannibal seeing him, but it works with just how Hannibal sees Will. Pretty much PWP.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nature Of Inviting

 

I always see human bodies as walking corpses. From the minute I meet someone, I seek out weaknesses. I plan how to toy with them and indulge in lavish fantasies about their murder to the finest detail, envisioning every scream, every shudder, and how each and every once happy face will look in their final moment. Even if not by my hand, I like to imagine how and when immortality will prove to be nothing but a cruel myth. But you change that. You change that in an instant. You’re the exception who not only breaks every single one of my rules but shatters them into oblivion.

We’re at a party the night we meet. Its purpose and location are no longer relevant - only you are. We are two lost souls searching for each other in a sea of otherwise unremarkable people, even if we don't know it yet. Then I find you. I notice you from across the room.  It's as if my body senses you before I even see where you are, or who you are for that matter. That's all it takes. One heartbeat and I'm hooked on you. Your mere presence is intoxicating and you draw me in immediately. I am yours for the taking, and I want you to know it. I want to have you, and I tell you this with a voice full of certainty and lust. Those are, in fact, my opening words to you as I know a feeling as intense as this has to be mutual. It’s a risky gambit, but it pays off the second you treat me to a smile and nod of agreement. I don’t know what brought us here tonight - fate, coincidence, the promise of appetisers and alcohol - or what it is we have - a connection, chemistry, lust, an intense desire to fuck - but I’m ready to leave. With you. We briefly indulge in small talk, just enough for me to ascertain that you’re not fool, and for my yearning for you to blossom into an actual need. It takes no more than a handful of staccato words, murmurs, and fragments of sentences. Then it’s time to go. Excuses are made before a quick exit. There’s no time to lose.

The journey home is a blur. An address is mumbled to a taxi driver, before heavy fumbling ensues in the car. It seems to take an eternity to get back, but our bodies work at an accelerated rate to compensate for the delay. From the moment we meet, all I’ve been able to think about is how it would feel to kiss you. I’m dissecting every angle of our potential first kiss, and I waste no time indulging. It’s frantic, passionate, brash, and electrifying. It leaves me breathless and craving more. I wonder how I’ll ever get enough of you. Our kisses intensify at a rapid place, the world around us melting into insignificance. There is only you and me; there is only us. It isn’t until the vehicle has been stationary for some time that I realise we’ve arrived at our destination and that the meter is still running - probably deservedly so. Sheepishly, we pry our entwined bodies apart and money is thrown in the driver’s direction before we exit with what little dignity we have left, if we have any at all.  

We’re kissing again before the taxi door is even fully closed, like love-drunk teenagers without the alibi. It isn’t until we’re at the front door (and believe me, I’d have you on the street if it came to it or if I'd had another glass of wine) that I notice my surroundings enough to see that we’re at mine. We clumsily scour my pockets for keys and miraculously make it through the threshold, even if my belt and jacket are lost in the process and discarded somewhere between my front door and my bedroom.

We meander through my place, a clumsy yet conjoined mess of lips, arms, and pieces of clothing flying like shrapnel. I ignore the trail of destruction we leave behind us as a table falls over in our wake in a failed attempt to gently nudge you towards my bedroom.  

My bedroom door slams shut behind us, and I pull away to look at you properly.

I have your complete and undivided attention. You are my captivated audience and are eagerly waiting for me to put on a show. I’ll try not to disappoint.

I undress you slowly then command you to lie down on the bed so I can truly appreciate you. You're a natural beauty. Your body is a work of art and it deserves to be treated as such. Your eyes are worthy of a sonnet, and I could compose a symphony about your lips: the way you bite your lip when you’re nervous or excited (I presume that’s what you are, anyway) and how I can’t stop staring at the perfect contours of your cupid’s bow. I imagine how amazing it’ll feel when you go down on me with lips like those. It’s enough to make me even harder.

I continue to admire you carefully, committing every curve and contour to memory. You’re worth remembering. The rest of you is just as pleasing to the eye to the point that the mere sight of you is making me hard. I need your touch.

I undress myself - shyly at first - but my confidence grows as you groan softly in approval and your naked, waiting form entices me. I walk over to join you and straddle you, asserting full control of the situation. I can give in to you, but I’ll never surrender my power. I’m the one who’s in charge; your purpose here tonight is to satisfy me, and I want you to know it. Your body is mine. You are mine and mine alone.

We kiss. Hard. I bite down on your neck, eager to taste more of you. I ask you to go down on me, or rather I command you. I tell you to obey me without question and you nod in agreement.

You tell me how this sort of thing really isn’t like you, only for me to tell you that I really like you: a cheesy but necessary exchange. Even though it’s stating the obvious, I tell you how much you turn me on. It’s not the standard jargon a couple blunders through to placate any lingering feelings of guilt or harlotry that can come with a one night stand. No. This is different. You may be a stranger, but I want more. I want inside your head. I want to know what makes you tick. Aside from me, that is.

You leave a trail of slow, sensual kisses from my lips to my cock, moving painstakingly slowly. You toy with me, watching me get more and more aroused, but you refuse to bring any relief until I beg. Apparently you want to claw back some of the power. I cave immediately. It’s entirely worth it when you take me seconds later. The feeling of your lips on mine pales in comparison to the sensation of your lips pleasuring me. I bite my lip and run my fingers through your hair. Your lips, your mouth, your hands. Everything about you is driving me wild. I’m hard but  it doesn’t take long until I’m close. You don’t let up. Your mouth is hot against me as my fingernails grasp the duvet. I gasp, I moan, I want to call out your name but realise it’s one of the details I forgot to ask. My hips buck toward you; I’m so close that it’s inevitable. You tease, your hands grasp, and you thrust until I give one final cry of ecstasy.

Perfect. You are perfect.

I pull you close and we lie together, your arms wrapping themselves around my chest as your head settles in the nook of my neck. Then there’s a pleasant silence. I stroke your hair, pulling gently at the soft curls and start to kiss your neck again. You giggle contentedly then coyly as me to fuck you. Your only request is that I’m not gentle.

I kiss you roughly and pin you down. You tell me how much you like it, and I can see you’re not lying. My fingernails bear down on your pale skin. I prepare myself and coax your body into position, moving your legs and holding you back. I don’t mess around. The beauty can be in the foreplay but, right now, the satisfaction will definitely be in the fuck.

I stroke your cock with purpose, feeling myself getting equally aroused.

I devour you. I devour every inch of you. I devour every inch of you with grace and admiration; I devour you with a longing and a passion I haven't felt in years. I savour every sound that escapes your lips as I thrust inside you.

With every thrust you take more of me; shuddering as I buck into you. A jolt of pleasure courses through me as I feel you writhe in pleasure beneath me. You pull me closer. My movements become rougher and firmer, but you don’t tell me to stop. All you say is how you want me to fuck you harder. I oblige. I clasp your wrists firmly and push you back. You swear, you throw your head back and you swear again as I fuck you as hard as I can. But you never tell me to stop. You want this. You want me.

You’re the first to buckle, climaxing with a final shudder and I’m only moments behind. One final, satisfying thrust and I join you, sweaty, out of breath and more satisfied than I’ve been for months. It’s amazing how much clarity a decent fuck can bring.

I invite you to stay the night, although you’re not in a state to go anywhere. Your hair is beautifully disheveled but still endearing, a lot like you. I half-jokingly suggest another round or two in the morning and am greeted with a resounding, enthusiastic if somewhat sleepy yes. I’m about to lose you to sleep so I whisper good night and shuffle into a more comfortable position.

It hits me as I pull the duvet up: I want you to stay. You may not be my design but, lying next to me, it feels as if you are designed for me. And you are perfect.

 

 


End file.
